A Stranger From Canada
by Inconstant Logic
Summary: Bumping into 'thin air' was unusual, but the blond Harry apparently bumped into was even stranger. Not to mention the stories the Canadian was telling him! A teeny bit of flirting, nothing major. Some swears, but chances are you already know them.


A/N: Yes, this is a HAP/HP crossover. Just to note, there's pretty much zero romance in here, apart from some mild flirting from Matthew. I don't really care to write a full out romance, flirting is easier, and much less difficult to develop. And yes, I did include a reference to the magnificent Pierre Trudeau. Those who recognize it are hereby deemed as awesome as Prussia. Trudeau, I salute you. Honestly, I was reading over this so many times, I was growing sick of it by the time I actually posted it. This is a oneshot, ergo there won't be anymore chapters on it.

Disclaimer: I just wanted to make a point of how redundant it is that we write these, when surely people realize that we on FF .net clearly don't own these characters. Anyways. I'd dearly love to own Hetalia, but alas, I wouldn't know enough World History to make a satisfying story. If I owned Harry Potter, I'd make Luna a main character.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure who or what he'd run into, only that now he lay on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, slightly winded by the mysterious collision. Grabbing the arm of a chesterfield, he heaved himself to his feet, looking around the deserted room for anyone he might've hit. He was about to declare himself crazy when he heard a voice (which, all things considered, could be an even greater indicator that he was crazy, but the author digresses).

"I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

Upon hearing the panicky, guilty voice, Harry realized there was a young man in front of him, scrambling to pick up the papers Harry had dropped. A mop of blond hair flopped back and forth as the man glanced around for anything he may have missed.

"Er, no, it's alright, I'm fine. Hey- who are you?" Harry was pretty sure he'd never heard anyone with an… American?... accent at Hogwarts before, let alone his common room.

He briefly considered warning a teacher about the intruder, but any thought process he had halted in its tracks when the blond man lifted his head to face Harry.

The man's strangely intense violet eyes seemed to lock Harry in place. He had _never_ seen such hypnotizing eyes before, and it was with great effort that Harry forced himself to examine the rest of the man's face.

High, noble cheekbones, a long narrow nose (though it seemed a bit crooked, rather like Dumbledore's), unblemished skin, and a gentle smile, all of it framed by waves of golden hair. Even Harry had to admit that the man- not even a man, he only looked 5 or 6 years older than him- was more aesthetically perfect than any person he'd ever seen before, including Fleur Delacour, who was one quarter-Veela, for Merlin's sake!

The man laughed airily, and replied, "I'm Matthew Williams, graduate of Hogwarts and several other institutions, at your service, sir," and at this, he saluted, perfect posture, and a gleaming smile.

Harry blushed slightly; why was he saluting?

"Erm… I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you." He stuck out a hand, shaking Matthew's.

"Ah, so you're Harry." Matthew angled his head down to look at him- _Merlin_, he didn't seem that tall at first! "My brother's talked about you for the last few months or so. For the record, he believes that Voldemort's back, too. Anyways, d'you think you could help me out?"

Harry felt disoriented. Usually when someone found out who he was, they'd gaze at him with hero-worship, or disbelief. This man just acknowledged it, and moved on! And how had they gone from apologizing for crashing into each other to doing each other favours within the space of a minute?

But for some incomprehensible reason, Harry didn't want to deny this man anything he wanted. It felt like… to disappoint this man would mean so much more than just being wary towards a stranger.

"Er, yeah, sure, what do you need?"

Hopefully it would be something simple; Matthew seemed like a nice enough guy.

"Well, the last time I was in the Gryffindor common room, I was trying to hide something of mine from my brother, and I hid it underneath a floorboard." Matthew chuckled. "The only problem is, I can't remember where it is. I _know_ I carved an X or something of the like into the board, but I'm afraid I can't tell without my glasses. D'you think you could help me look for it?"

Harry blinked. Well, it was certainly an odd request, but he still felt that inexplicable urge to help Matthew with whatever the blond wanted. "Alright."

The blond grinned gratefully. "Thanks!"

XuxXuxXuxXuxXux

And so Harry found himself on his hands and knees, with Matthew leaning over him, chattering happily.

"Is that it? No? I think it was somewhere to the left of the fireplace, if that helps any. I'm afraid I barely remember, it was so long ago that I attended Hogwarts."

Sighing heavily, Harry questioned, "When _did_ you attend Hogwarts? You don't look much older than 21. And another thing; how could you attend Hogwarts when you're American?"

At that, the blond's left eye twitched. Harry felt a brief shiver of fear shoot up his spine, but it vanished when Matthew smiled. "Firstly, I'm Canadian, not American. Never forget that, you won't like the consequences. Second, I'm a hell of a lot older than you'd believe, so I'll leave it to your imagination. And third, my brother Arthur is British, so I had a sort of special allowance into Hogwarts; Arthur was close with the headmaster…"

Harry would've pressed Matthew for clearer explanations, but one look into the Amer-_Canadian's_ eyes left him feeling somewhat dizzy and confused. He resumed his search for the book, momentarily stretching his back to ease the cricks in it.

He cleared his throat. "So are you a Gryffindor? I mean, you must be, to have hid something in the Gryffindor common room. Unless a Gryffindor told you the passwords, I guess."

Matthew laughed, the musical sound drifting downwards to Harry's ears. "Ah, well, that's quite the complicated question. D'you still use that Sorting Hat?"

"Yeah…"

"Shame. It was always rather snarky, and the headmaster never bothered to clean it between kids jamming it on their heads, so I put it on fearing magically enlarged lice were going to crawl onto my head." Harry cringed a bit at that. He could remember several instances when Aunt Petunia cut off nearly all his hair in an attempt to make sure no lice could jump onto Dudley via Harry.

"But when I put it on, it just babbled in my ear for ten minutes or so, and then decided it couldn't place me in any house-"

Harry turned around at this, shock evident on his face. He'd never heard of such a thing happening before! But Matthew just smiled nostalgically, and Harry didn't want to interrupt such a strange story. Honestly, it couldn't decide _on a single house?_

"-and obviously everyone else was stunned, and even the teachers. But Arthur talked to the headmaster, and after a couple of minutes, the headmaster allowed me to just choose any house I wanted."

Enraptured by now (having completely forgotten about marked floorboards, because _really_, how exciting is that?), Harry asked, "So what did you choose?"

Matthew laughed now, a deep and hearty laugh. "None. I spent my first year just trying out each house, living in it, wearing its robes, cheering for it in Quidditch. By the time second year rolled around, I was having too much fun slipping into any group and changing to their atmosphere. It was ridiculously entertaining. Plus, the teachers could never take points away from me, since I didn't have a fixed house."

"What could you _possibly_ like in Slytherin that would make you want to return to it?" Harry questioned, astonished.

The Canadian smirked. "First off, I love their common room." Chuckling at the look of disbelief on Harry's face, he continued. "It was nice and cool during the summer, and I loved the privacy you can have when you live in the dungeons. It also had to do with the people." A thoughtful look came over his face.

"Y'know, Harry, it's not as if Slytherins spend all their time plotting on how best to serve Voldemort. They're smart as hell, and _much_ more fun than Ravenclaws. All _they_ ever did was study and sit around discussing philosophy. One of their favourite non-magical subjects. Slytherin humour may be a bit… _peculiar_… but they know that, and they just go with it. One of the best things in North America is that we have people dressing and talking in such different ways that we're used to the odd and peculiar."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. The only humour he'd seen from Slytherins included cursing Hermione's teeth to grow uncontrollably, and trying to get Buckbeak killed by the Ministry so Draco could have the hippogriff's head mounted on his wall. He met Matthew's gaze, trying not to convey his disbelief, but the message somehow made it to the blond.

Frowning slightly, Matthew continued, "Hogwarts really screwed it up by dividing all its students into these silly little groups, because now people get the idea that they're a 'distinct society'," at this, a nostalgic smirk flickered on his face, "just because they're a Gryffindor, or because the Sorting Hat sings about how they're students with grand, ancient blood lines. The Founders never really realized that separating kids when they're only 11 just makes them closed off to other kids."

Harry was about to ask what Matthew thought the Founders could've done better, when his hand brushed across a carving in the floor. He turned his head to it, and his eyes landed on the cross carved into the wood.

"I found it," he stated hesitantly.

The change in the blond's mood was instant, his smirk morphing into a look of shock. Matthew beamed, and Harry was almost blinded by the pure happiness and gratitude the Canadian exuded. He'd never seen anyone seem so innocent and carefree, and he blushed terribly when the blond pounced on him, hugging him tightly from behind.

"Oh, thank you _so much_! I've been searching for this for _so long_, and I had to take a plane all the way from Canada to get here, and then bug Arthur for directions to get to Hogwarts, and then when I _finally_ got here I realized I didn't have my glasses. You don't realize how wonderful it is you were here to help me."

Harry felt too warm in Matthew's embrace, and would've said something if the blond hadn't leapt off him and started pulling up the floorboard _with his bare hands!_

He clumsily stood up, his feet numb from kneeling on the ground, and exclaimed, "Wait! I can pull it up with magic! You'll cut your hands if you do it like that."

He flushed again when Matthew smiled at him and accepted, scooting back for Harry to wave his wand at the floorboard.

"Diffindo!"

The wood cracked in two, and the boys quickly pulled away the halves, revealing a filthy hole in the ground, with a small pile of photos secured by a paper clip tucked safely in the hole. Matthew reached in, and with a smile pulled out the photos.

Harry looked at the subject of the top photo; a blond man glaring at the camera, a scowl on his face. He had spiky hair, and absolutely _horrific_ eyebrows. A cup of tea was clutched in one hand, and a newspaper lay in front of him. Harry felt an inexplicable rush of warmth at the sight of the man, a sense of familiarity. Then Matthew stuffed the pictures into his pocket, and Harry was left with an oddly hollow feeling in his chest.

Matthew stood up, cracking his neck as he smiled, satisfied. "Well, Harry, I can't thank you enough for doing this for me. I'll tell you this; I'm cheering for you all the way, kid."

And then he moved closer to Harry, who couldn't manage to say a word before he felt lips on his right cheek. He froze, and the contact ended just as suddenly as it had begun. He looked up at Matthew, who just grinned as he strode over to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

As the blond swung one leg out the portrait hole, he paused, and turned back to Harry.

"Tell you what. You were wondering how old I am, right?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, still partially in shock from the kiss.

The blond nodded, and withdrew the photos from his pocket. He thumbed through them, humming absentmindedly, before plucking one from the pile with a successful "aha!"

He extended his hand to Harry, giving him the photo. "This should give you some vague idea as to my age." And with another salute, he was out the portrait hole.

Harry stood, unmoving, before raising the photograph to his face. It was ancient, crumbling at the edges, and black and white. It was probably taken by one of those dry plate cameras, like the pictures Aunt Petunia had of her long-dead ancestors.

In the photo was Matthew, looking only a year or two younger than he did presently, with wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. A nearly identical blond had his arm slung around Matthew's shoulders, a confident grin on his youthful face. They both wore white linen shirts, and trousers, and Matthew had a cowboy hat jammed on his head.

Harry turned the picture over, and gaped at the note scribbled on it in faded green ink.

_1877- Matthew and Alfred; Canada's tenth anniversary._

After staring wordlessly at the picture for a few minutes, Harry made a decision.

_Hogwarts should start bringing in more students from Canada._


End file.
